Sins of the Father
by elemental mystique
Summary: Sam Braun's thoughts regarding Catherine before he dies. Built to Kill Pt. 2 Spoilers. One-shot.


Muggs approaches me, her face an angry mask. It doesn't take long for her to snap off an offensive remark about my companion and my abundance of infidelity in her usual sarcastic tone. "Everybody in town knows you're here every Thursday night. And usually with my mother." It is a challenge, and I ignore it.

I tell the girl to wait for me. "I'll be right along," I inform her. With a white-capped toothpaste smile, a toss of her platinum blond hair and a slow sway of her hips, she obeys. I've never remembered her name to begin with, and I turn back to my Muggs.

"She doesn't mean a thing. It's all for show," I tell her honestly. To be true to myself, Lily has always been the one woman that has stood out in my mind. Unlike the hundreds of girls that I have been with – and I mean _hundreds _– Lily has class and sophistication. Muggs too – plus that intelligence, passion and sharpness that many a guy I know has found attractive. Not that they've ever said it stone-cold sober to my face, of course – maybe they were worried that Daddy-O would kick their butts.

In that instant, I remember what happened the day before, and inwardly my heart cringes. That slap was the one mistake I will forever regret. I remember being caught up with worry and shame and fear for Muggs and Lindsay, and Lily. Her words simply brought me to the brink and I crossed the line. "Look, Muggs, yesterday was…"

"Just save it," Muggs interrupts curtly, dismissing my lousy apology. Her eyes shutter until I cannot see anything there. "I only came to tell you to call off your guys."

Okay. She has this thing about pegging me as the Las Vegas Godfather. In a way, she's right, but not this time. I truly am puzzled – I have no idea what she is saying.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply in my defense, my brow furrowing. I wish that for once she would look at me and not see a monster or a gangster, but just her father. I've known all her life that she is my daughter, and I would honestly give almost anything to have those days back again when she and I shared affection and concern openly and freely. Now, she sees me only as a thug, in her own words, and I have nothing to say to that. When have I ever acted otherwise, except to her?

Muggs deliberately lays it out for me, and I sigh inwardly. "Joe Hirschoff and his partner invested everything they had in the Eclipse," she says coldly and matter-of-factly. "But it went bankrupt before you broke ground. You formed a new corporation to finish the project, leaving those guys with nothing."

Is it that much of a problem? It really is just business sometimes, and others have done much worse in my shoes – they'd have gone after Hirschoff and O'Brien like vultures picking their bones. By the time they would be done, Hirschoff and O'Brien wouldn't even have their own names left to themselves.

"Sometimes that's the way it goes in business," I tell her as quietly and calmly as I am able to.

"Uh-huh," Muggs nods sarcastically. "O'Brien and Hirschoff lost 20 million, right? O'Brien caved and stuck a gun in his mouth. Hirschoff wants you to pay him back. So, where is he?" Her eyes flash at me, demanding an answer.

Is _that _a rhetorical question? I again answer honestly. "I don't know."

Muggs' expression is a mix of frustration and concern. "Come on, Sam, this isn't old Vegas anymore. Let the police handle it." Then her sarcasm returns to bite me in the butt. "Or have you already killed him?"

I look at her and see Lily all over again. But when I blink I see only Muggs – my daughter, the one person that I will do anything for. She doesn't know that she is the main beneficiary of my will – she and her daughter, and Lily. She doesn't know that I've ordered my chauffeur to drive past Butterfield Academy sometimes, to see my granddaughter; she doesn't know how much exactly those pictures of her and Lindsay hurt me. I remember that day. The moment I laid eyes on those pictures, I fired every jerk that tittered even once. She doesn't know that I got my men to beat up the guy that made a crude joke about her. Nobody lays a finger on my daughter and gets away scot-free.

Does she even feel a thing for me? There are times that I really wonder. If I died, would she care? Is there a fraction of affection there in that heart that even possesses a hint of similarity to the emotion that I feel for her?

"I give you my word," I insist truthfully. "No."

Muggs' eyes suddenly go perfectly round with surprise and panic. She looks over my shoulder as I keep my eyes on her face, studying it and trying to remember its details in its whole perfection. I can glimpse emotions fluttering across her face like beating wings: recognition, shock, understanding – and fear. Her mouth forms my name. The moment it tears from her lips in a scream, I whip around.

My mind registers Joe Hirschoff just as he pulls a gun from his waistband and fires two slugs into my chest. I see the muzzle flare twice. The hammer impact sends me reeling against my daughter, and my limbs go numb, my body collapsing back against Muggs. There really isn't any pain – physically, anyway. I can hear Muggs screaming my name, and the agony in her voice is overwhelming.

I want to say something to her, assure her or crack a typical joke, but my lungs have seized up and my tongue is still in my mouth. My whole body doesn't move even as my brain commands it, and already my thoughts are slowing and turning sluggish.

So this is what it's like to die. Feeling Muggs' arms around me, hearing her cries, is a bittersweet experience. My regret now, is ever having caused her pain due to my own actions. Also, the fact that I will never be around to tell her how much I love her as my daughter. Those thoughts are joined and lightened by the simple happiness of knowing that, no matter what Muggs has said or done, she _does _care, after all.

Even discovering it in death is still enough for me.


End file.
